You Shouldn't Play With Knives
by DarkMadameFaye
Summary: Requested story about some guy from The Punisher (2004) beating up some other guy.


Dave knew it would be a bad day when he saw Tattooed Mike outside of Joan's door. He'd known Mike was bad news as soon as Joan took up with him. She was a beautiful woman, but someone had her all screwed up. She never saw what they were like until it was too late. She had two restraining orders to her name already, and one of the main reasons she was in the apartment complex at all was another ex who couldn't let go.

This wasn't the first time Tattooed Mike had come looking for trouble. All the other times, Dave had kept his door shut. Joan had more than enough practice- she knew how to take care of herself. She either ignored him or threatened to call the cops, and he always stormed away eventually. But things were different this time. Frank Castle had moved in. At first Dave had been scared of him. Now he was still scared of him, but he knew that was what a man should be. He shouldn't be hiding in his room while a potential rapist or murderer harassed his friend. He wanted to be the kind of man Frank was.

"Joanie! Open up the goddamn door!" Mike bellowed. He pounded the door with a fist, and Dave heard Joanie whimper from inside. Mike yelled a stream of epithets, and Dave summoned the courage to make his move.

"Um, dude?" he asked, his voice quavering. Mike turned, and Dave hurriedly changed tracks. "It's kind of late."

"Get out of here, lardass," Mike said.

"I'm gonna call the cops," Dave pressed, looking nervously at the ground.

Mike turned around and slowly advanced on him. Dave backed up a step, tucking himself behind a partition in the wall. Mike reached out a hand and set it heavily on Dave's chest, making him jump. Almost tenderly, Mike laid his other hand across Dave's forehead. Suddenly, he shoved it back, kneeing Dave in the stomach at the same time, making Dave yelp.

Mike kept a hand on Dave's forehead as he brought the other up to lightly slap him. Dave winced sideways and shrank against the wall as Mike slapped him from the other side. He was embarrassed, but only because his first thought wasn't how demeaning it was. His first thought was how scared he was.

"You should go," Dave's eyes stung with tears as he made a last desperate effort. "She probably called the cops."

"She never did before," Mike said. "But maybe need some privacy." He opened the door behind Dave, shoving him into his apartment. As Dave was still stumbling back, Mike shut the door.

"What are you doing, man?" Dave stammered, his voice rising in pitch.

"What are you afraid I'm going to do to her?" Mike asked. He reached into his pocket and took out what looked like a pair of pliers. "Cut her up?" he flicked his wrist, and a black blade snapped into place.

"Hey, man, I don't want any trouble," Dave said, backing farther into the room. His leg hit his ragged couch and he almost fell onto it.

"I do," Mike said. "Bitch sure made enough trouble for me."

Even if he'd been a braver man, Dave knew this was beyond his abilities. He made a sudden dash for the kitchen, for the phone set into the wall. Dave pounced after him, grabbing the back of his shirt and pinning him against a wall.

"What the hell, dude? Just get out of here," Dave said, more pleading than commanding.

"You're Joanie's knight in shining armor, aren't you?" Mike taunted. "Here to stop someone from getting hurt." At the last word, Mike grabbed Dave's chin and slashed the knife across his cheek, enough to draw blood but not puncture through. Dave's arm twitched to reach up and stop him, but it froze before it even started. He froze all over, following some bizarre instinct that he knew was useless.

Mike stuck the knife into Dave's cheek hard enough to leave a bloody divot right under his eye. Dave's vision flashed white as Mike swiftly hooked a fist into his left temple, knocking him to the ground. He felt a weight on his chest as Mike knelt over him, one leg on either side. Dave knew the walls were thin enough for a scream to carry, but the thought of calling for help was the only thing that could possibly be more humiliating. Surely Mike would grow bored soon and leave. It was the same way Dave had dealt with bullies all his life.

"This is the way Joanie liked it," Mike said, his breath hot on Dave's face. "Did you know she liked it rough? Maybe you do, too. I should ask your fat boyfriend."

 _Oh my gosh, he's going to rape me, too,_ Dave thought. He made a panicked scramble for freedom, and was stopped when Mike slammed the knife through his hand and into the floor. After that, Dave couldn't hold his screams back anymore.

"Trying to get away? You're just like the bitch. Only with less fight," Mike said. He rose and kicked Dave in the ribs, so hard he felt something crack. He kicked again, twice more, then stomped on Dave's fractured chest. Dave groaned and coughed, spitting blood. Then he was choking on blood, since Mike brought his boot down on Dave's face.

 _He's going to kill me. I'm going to die,_ Dave thought. Frank would have already kicked Mike's ass and gotten away, but he wasn't half the man Frank was. He could only take some comfort in the thought that he died trying, like a knight from one of his comic books.

Mike knelt and pressed the knife to Dave's throat. "Maybe I'll do this to her next. I bet you dreamed about swapping fluids with her," he said. "Or maybe I'll do it this way." he slid his arm down further, the knife pricking against Dave's jaw as Mike's forearm crushed the air from Dave's throat.

"Or why not both?" Mike said to himself, taking the knife in his other hand. He stuck it into Dave's stomach, and Dave finally knew what all those comic books felt like in real life. It felt more like a punch than a stab, and he hadn't thought his blood would feel so cold. He felt sharp pains as Mike twisted the knife, gouging at the flesh around the wound. He heard something splintering and wondered which one of his bones had broken, and marveled at how he was so far into shock he couldn't feel it.

"Mike!"

At the sound of the high-pitched shriek, Mike whipped his head around and Dave weakly lifted his. He saw Joan in the doorway, holding her hands to her face in horror and hiding partway behind Frank Castle, who was just setting his foot down after kicking through the door.

Maybe it happened fast, or maybe it was just shock. It certainly seemed to Dave that Frank swiftly grabbed Mike's hand as he tried to stab him, twisted it until it broke, took the knife, and stuck it into his kneecap. As Mike bellowed in pain in a kneeling position, Frank kicked him in the face. He toppled sideways and lay still.

"Oh my God, Dave!" Joan screamed as she knelt beside him and pressed her hands over his wound.

"I'm okay," he mumbled, and winced as a shattered tooth cut his lip.

"Call 911!" Joan yelled at Frank, who had taken a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and was securing Mike to the nearby bathroom sink.

"Faster to just drive him," Frank said gruffly. Which was true, but Dave also suspected Frank was an underground assassin and probably didn't want police attention. "Just get him stabilized first."

 _Of course Frank would know about trauma care,_ Dave thought as Frank disappeared from the room. He returned moments later with a roll of gauze and started very professionally dressing Dave's wound, which he bravely thought wasn't as bad as it looked.

"Come on, old boy, let's get you to the hospital," Frank said. He helped Dave to his feet, hauling him more than helping him, and started making his way to the hall. As they breached the doorway, Dave wondered why there was a cherry popsicle on the floor, and whether he'd lost enough blood to be hallucinating.

As the floundered down the hall, a door opened. Bumpo's face peeked out.

"Did he lea- _oh my god!"_ Bumpo threw open the door. "What happened?"

"You should have been there. I had him on the ropes," Dave managed. Bumpo crowded out into the hall and took Dave's other arm to support him.

"Did you really fight him?" Bumpo asked as they hustled down the stairs. Joan slipped past them and ran ahead to start her car.

"Sort of," Dave admitted.

"Oh, he's definitely down," Frank confirmed.

 _In like ten years, this might be kind of a funny story,_ Dave thought blearily. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard a thin, beleaguered voice wail from the end of the hall.

"Mr. Castle? I'll tell you about Howard Saint. Just let me down. Mother _fucker_ I have a headache!"


End file.
